


By Rights We Are Romans

by Homonoid



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, First chapter is longish, Historical References, I still don't get this tagging thing send help, Pagan Gods, Roman Empire, Terminology heavy, Uncomfy Themes ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homonoid/pseuds/Homonoid
Summary: AU set in Ancient Rome, around 30 BCE. All her life, Asami Sato has lived with curious glances from her fellow citizens--all because everything about her is different, down to her last name. But how ever alienated she feels, her father stresses: "by rights we are Romans".In her heart of hearts, though, is she also so sure?





	1. Ancilla

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! The following is a fictional story that I have been working on for a *really* long time—and I still haven’t finished! Set in the early years of the Roman Empire, this story is basically the product of my love of history and of The Legend of Korra. Here, you will see my attempt at blending these two worlds. Thus, I will write this story with the assumption that you, the reader, know a little bit about Ancient Roman history, or at the very least some Ancient Roman terms (but I will try my best to “explain” them within the story, so to speak). Of course, this blending is neither too faithful nor accurate to their inspirations, but it still, I feel, captures the essence of both. There will be turmoil, laughs, and confusion all throughout. There will be OC’s that I hope are not too intrusive to the story, or are understandably there because of the context and plot. I apologize for any OOC-ness. There will also be confusing Roman terms and landmarks that I will explain at the bottom of this page and in every other chapter as I see fit. And, of course, this story will most certainly be, and will most certainly contain, gay.  
> As a final note (here, anyway), I would also like to mention that some scenes in this story (and especially this chapter) may be a bit much for some people. There will be themes of slavery and violence in this Roman world, after all. Also racism… Sort of. And so, if that is not your cup of tea, I would suggest browsing for another, more lighthearted story. I also want to preemptively apologize for any mistakes and inconsistencies that I have made—and I would love it if you pointed them out!
> 
> Without further ado, then.

  On the rare occasions that my father comes home to our villa, he would murmur _“By rights we are Roman,”_ to me just before he returns to the Capital. He liked saying it, I know, and he expected me to grunt my approval whenever he does. After I nod my head and make a little choking sound, he would smile. It was clockwork at that point. He’d stand up from his chair. He’d pat my back and wish that Fortuna give me her blessings, and then he would take off for Capital in his litter. I’d hurry to the villa’s balcony then, and watch his party march until it disappears from my sight. At that point, the sun would beat down on my skin, signaling noon, telling me that I should retire to my quarters. My monotonous life would then resume after that brief interval. There, inside our villa, like the good daughter that I am, I’d wait for his return, managing our household in his absence.

  Save for a few trinkets and household items he had bought for me from the Capital, my father never really left traces of his presence in the villa. He had his own room, yes, but it would always look undisturbed by the time he leaves, even though he coops himself up in it during his stay. More than once I’ve asked him to at least hire someone to make a portrait of him, as even some of our laborers forget that they’re hired by him and not me. He’d always chuckle at that, to my annoyance. The one thing that sticks with me, whenever he leaves, is those words: _“By rights we are Roman”_.

  Those words are not entirely wrong, but they’re not entirely right either. We _are_ Roman, but not quite. My father and I don’t look like regular Romans—even by Rome’s standards. My skin is just a tad lighter than my friends’; my hair just a shade darker. My eyes are what set me apart the most. They are green, which is already uncommon, but they’re also slanted up, a trait that’s virtually unheard of in the Empire. Many times I’ve had to answer “yes” whenever someone asks me if I could see through them. Even our names aren’t up to the “Roman standard”— ever heard of a house named _Sato_? _Asami_ and _Hiroshi_ don’t even sound remotely similar to the dozens of _praenomen_ available to us. My name doesn’t even tell people that I’m my father’s daughter. In fact, I never understood why my family didn’t adopt Roman names. Our situation wouldn’t exactly be as complicated as it is if they did. When it comes to laws and rights and physical features and all that—I stand out too much.

  I’m reminded of all of this—my sore thumb status— as I walked through the Capital, just a few weeks after my father last went to our villa. I was walking through the Via Sacra, to be exact— the road that goes through the Roman Forum. It was the first time I had been there in months. I can’t say I had missed it, though. It was not much different from my last visit. It was still dirty and humid. Even in the early hours of the day, the people were still so noisy. There was still that foul stench—moldy and rancid like rotting fruit—that’s wafting through the streets, irritating my nose. Best of all, people were still staring at me like I’m some exotic animal. As hard as I try to ignore them, their gazes bear into me like bees flocking onto a flower during summer. Normally I would have been in my litter, but it had broken down midway during our trip towards the Capital, probably due to disuse. So, my companion and I waded through the streets on foot. Which is all fine and good, I guess, but I had enough of the city and the staring, really, even though I’d only been there for a few hours.

  "How much farther do we have to walk, Petale?” I asked the girl walking next to me: my handmaiden.

  “We still have to pass the Temple of Jupiter, Mistress. But the crowd is starting to thin. Campus Martius shouldn’t be far off,” she replied.  A girl of thirteen, Petale is one of the younger members of our household. Fair of hair and pale of skin, her features unmistakably label her as a Gaul, but her dress and the way she carries herself does not show her status as a slave. Not that I would ever use that against her, however, Roman eyes be damned. Simple pieces of gold jewelry decorated her wrists, and little earrings complimented her white tunic and _stola,_ which matched what I wore _._ She walked with the same dignity and grace that any patrician girl would have.

  “We should’ve gone to Campus Martius yesterday. The Via Flaminia is already closer to it,” I frowned, remembering the road we took when we entered the city.

  “We could’ve, yes, but the Master was already waiting for us. And,” I heard Petale suppress a small chuckle, “If I remember correctly, you told me you were quite exhausted, Mistress. You said you’d chop off your feet from the pain.”

  “I didn’t mean that! And you should’ve shoved me towards the Field. You could’ve dragged me too. Anything to avoid going through the Forum more than once,” I grumbled melodramatically. Looking to my right, I saw Petale shaking her head, clearly amused.

  “I shall make note of that for future use, Mistress. I’m not fond of the Forum myself, really. But look,” She nodded her head forward, “I can see Circus Flaminius. We’re nearly there.”

 

* * *

 

  Though not as huge as Circus Maximus, Circus Flaminius is still quite large. Situated in Campus Martius, Circus Flaminius is a walled, circular area usually used for minor games and festivals. Every once in a while, however, traders and merchants, with consent from _Augustus_ , would fill Circus Flaminius with market stalls. In contrast to the ones on the Via Sacra, however, the stalls here provided more lavish wares, which attracted the richer citizens of the city. Petale and I often scheduled our trips to the Capital in time with these “market festivals”. It’s not as crowded as the Forum, and not as dirty either. The shops there are open longer too, and there’s so much to see that people just ignore me when I walk by. Fine linens from some famous regions of the Empire are what catch the eye first, since they’re in the larger stalls near the entrance of the Circus. Some of them even advertise that their wool comes from Tarentum, a place famed for its sheep. Beside the garment-sellers were tanners selling pre-made heavy coats, footwear, and belts, pandering to younger male citizens. Further, there were stalls that sold wines that their brewers swear are similar to the ones consumed by the Emperor himself—which I doubt, but people are still crowding around them. There are stalls that sell fruit that looked ripe and delicious, and near those butchers sold meat. Some merchants were even selling little statues of the gods, intricately detailed, each worth a small fortune.

  By the time the sun was almost at its peak and we were quite tired from walking around the stalls, Petale spied a _thermopolium_ at the very back of the Circus, to my surprise. It was uncovered and didn’t look fancy, but the smells coming from it made my mouth water. I’ve never seen one here before—they required ovens, after all. Building those took time, and tearing them down when the Circus is needed for other things would be such a waste. And I did hear that the richer citizens of the city didn’t like eating at one, as the _thermopoliums_ served those without kitchens in their houses, resulting in the stigma that only the poor ate here. Still, we were hungry and tired from walking around. Somewhere to sit and something to eat was nice. And people were still dropping by and buying food. I gave a few _sestertii_ to the cook, and pretty soon we were inhaling bread, warm soup, and cheese.

  “Mistress, if I may ask you a question?” Petale nudged me, interrupting my attack on a piece of goat cheese.

  I smiled at her. Normally she’d just ask me her question straight away, but we have to keep certain social conducts when in public, as painful as it sounds. “Of course,” I started picking on the cheese again, trying to keep the mood light, “What is it?”

  She opened her mouth, hesitated for a moment, and closed her mouth again, deep in thought. I patted her hand in reassurance. I had at least a few ideas about what her query is. She had always been quite curious.

  Eventually, she found the words. “Well, we usually come here when the olives are already harvested. The Master never invites us, and he isn’t even at your Quirinal home when we come,” she started, referencing our home in the Capital, “But this time the olives aren’t even ripe, and the Master invited you… And he even met us up the hill. Begging your pardon, Mistress, and I’m not saying I distrust the Master. But this whole event is pretty suspect.”

  I looked at her for a moment, amused at what she said. She’s right. Since my father has business in the Capital, he spends most of his time here. As his only heir, I’m in charge of his olive groves near our villa. Because of this, I don’t usually visit the Capital unless the harvest season has passed, the olives pressed, and all the workers are paid.

  But this time was a special occasion.

  “I'm here to meet my betrothed, Petale,” I replied, smiling just enough so that she doesn’t get worried. My father hadn’t announced the engagement yet, but there was no point in keeping the truth from her. “He’s supposed to come to the house tomorrow.”

  Petale cocked her brow, “Why didn’t he just visit us in the villa?”

  “He and father don’t have time to visit the villa, dear,” I shrugged. Our villa was in the northern region outside of Rome—not near enough to be considered an outskirt district, but not far enough to be on a different province. It takes just a day to go from there to my father’s home here on the Quirinal Hill. Not that that mattered. Men from the Capital are always so busy, never finding enough time for their daughters or wives.

  “I would’ve thought he’d give you the courtesy, Mistress,” Petale frowned, pensive. I can already see the disappointment brewing on her face. I laughed. She’s young, alright. She’s wise beyond her years, but my handmaiden still believed in the romance of marriage—which she no doubt got from the Athenians who visit our villa—I suppose.

  I patted her hand again, “As frustrating as it seems, my dear, we have to adjust ourselves according to the men’s wishes. That’s our role, I guess. I don’t like it either. But I owe my father as much. And my husband…”

  I trailed off, careful. _I don’t know about him, really_ , is what I wanted to say. And it was the truth. I didn’t know him—not even his name. My father was in a hurry when he wrote his letter; he only mentioned that I have a suitor with an old _nomen_ —a patrician— one that would cement me and my children by him as “true” Romans. I could almost laugh at the thought. My father’s saying— _by rights we are Roman_ —was just for assurance. We both knew it all along. We needed the power of a marriage to make our rights seem more tangible in the eyes of the patricians. I should have been happy that he’s trying to improve our standing. It meant that I wouldn’t be so cooped up in our villa all the time, and I could change my name to reflect my husband’s. I wouldn’t stand out as much anymore. But it seemed a little bittersweet to me. My father finally realized just how different we really are, and his answer is to undermine the words he says to me so often.

  “Mistress?” I heard Petale next to me, immediately snapping me out of my thoughts. It seems that I left her hanging a little too long.

  “Nothing, Petale. I’ll meet him soon enough. There’s nothing to worry about for now except,” I said, giving her a wink, “Our food. We need to finish this. The Circus won’t close for a while but I want to get—”

  I was interrupted by a loud voice. It sounded shrill, almost in pain. Petale heard it too, immediately looking behind us, where the voice continues to shout as if protesting and crying at the same time. People passed by us hurriedly, their clothes flowing in the wind. There was a crowd forming in the center of the Circus, it seemed. Near what looks to be a…

  “Oh gods, why today?” Abandoning our food, I took Petale’s hand, joining the forming crowd. I could feel the dread starting to form in my chest.  Almost feverish, I elbowed my way in, gripping Petale tightly. I should’ve left her at the _thermopolium_ , but I wasn’t taking chances—especially considering the implication of the forming crowd. It didn’t take much to know what’s happening. As we got nearer, I could see it: a raised platform. That, and the screams of protest, meant only one thing: slave merchants have come to Circus Flaminius.

  A tall, burly man towered on the platform’s steps. “Shut her up, Licinius! We’re already late enough as it is!” he shouted, and a boy who couldn’t be much older than Petale went to the source of the noise: a wailing woman whose belly was so big that there was no doubt that she was pregnant. The boy, who was looking almost as frightened as the woman is, tried to calm her down, without much success. He did manage to tone down her sobs, but it wasn’t enough. Impatient, the burly man hurriedly went down from the steps and approached them.

  I pulled Petale closer to me, hugging her tight, shielding her eyes. I silently cursed the fact that people might actually take her from me the moment I lost sight of her. The burly man had grabbed the woman by her hair, balled his fist, and struck the woman’s cheek. No one so much as batted an eye.

  I could feel Petale’s hand squeezing mine. “Mistress…” she whispered, her tone defiant, as if she could see what was happening. I release her from my embrace. Why did we come here, anyway? She didn’t have to see this spectacle.

  “We… should go home, Petale. I’m sorry,” I said, trying to drag her outside of the crowd. My handmaiden, however, was frozen on her spot. I raised my brows and, looking back, I saw her watching the platform. “We need to go home, dear,” I pulled her hand again, but she didn’t budge, “We have to—”

  “Mistress… Please look.”

  Petale nudged her head towards the line of would-be slaves just near the platform. I hesitated, wondering why she wants me to look at the horrid injustice happening in front of her, but she nudged her head again. The wailing woman was gone, apparently sold, probably for just a few hundred _denarii_ due to her pregnancy. She was an investment, as they say; sustaining the pregnant woman during her pregnancy is at her master’s expense, and her child might not even survive to be useful. The other poor souls were starting to go up the steps, to be observed by the crowd like cattle. I started counting them. The first was a scrawny, old man—A Greek by the looks of it. The second was a small boy, thin and frail. The third was another man, taller, leaner, and younger than the first. The fourth was a young woman, stern-looking and muscular, more suited for gladiator fights than the tasks of handmaidens. The fifth is…

  I stopped. I realized why Petale wants me to look.

  A young girl and an older woman were climbing the steps next, one after the other. I watched them, half fascinated, half horrified. They looked similar enough for them to be relatives at least, mother and daughter at most. They walked slowly, almost dragging themselves. My chest tightened. They were the last two to come up, set apart from the others because their features set them apart from Gaul, Greek, and Roman alike.

  The younger had black hair, cut above her shoulders, while the older woman had grey locks, tied up in a messy bun. Their skins weren’t as pale as mine or as a Gaul’s, but they were still lighter than a Roman’s. Both were tall and lean.  Both had sharp features. Both had eyes that were pale green, slanting up. I could almost cry. They looked like me.

  Before I knew it, I was walking towards the front, dragging Petale with me. I watched as the auction begins, my eyes glued to the two women. The burly man called the crowd’s attention. 700 _denarii_ for the Greek, he bellowed, probably pointing to the first man. The Greek is educated and knows Latin, the burly man boasted, and would make a fine tutor for a nobleman’s son. In the crowd, I heard three men shout their offers: 750 _denarii_ , 800 _denarii,_ 810 _denarii_. A fourth took the Greek with an offer of 820 _denarii_.

  “ _Mistress… they…”_ Petale whispered to me, and I nodded. I turned my head just a bit and, sure enough, saw that Petale’s eyes were staring intently at the girl and the woman, as if caught in a trance. I didn’t blame her. Why did they look so much like me? I immediately turned my gaze back to them. The girl moved closer to the elder. Both looked surprisingly calm despite their desperate predicament.

  The auction continued.

  The boy is the next to be offered to the crowds. I heard the burly man’s assistant move him to the center of the platform. The burly man called the offer—600 _denarii_ —and the buyers called theirs. As they did, the young girl on the platform whispered something to the older woman, who in turn shook her head once in response.

  “ _What are they doing, Mistress…?”_ Petale whispered again, and I tried to nod, but only succeeded in tightening my hand around hers. She saw the whisper too. And, in fact, the girl is whispering again, her eyes starting to look panicked. The elder only shook her head once more.

  “This one here’s good for farming,” the burly man continued his sale. “Still young. Can get a lot of juice out of him—750 _denarii_ is where we start.”

  Again, the buyers called out their offers. I didn’t see the exchange.

  “ _Mistress Asami…”_

  A movement to our right caught my eye, breaking my focus. The tall, lean woman was next. She looked stern earlier, but her blue eyes now looked so sad and vulnerable. Looking closely at her, I noticed that there are scars on her face and patches of her brow missing. The burly man pushed her forward, in the center of the platform.

  “This was a tough catch,” he called. “A woman warrior. A spectacle to behold in a fighting pit, but the ditch between her legs is just as good for the brothel! Just keep her on a tight leash. We start at 650 _denarii_ —”

  “No!!”

  A cry had interrupted the burly man.

  The girl’s voice, shrill and desperate, was heard throughout Circus Flaminius. Petale and I watched in utter horror as the girl launched herself, feet up into the air, towards the muscular woman, who looked equally as terrified as we did.

  A stunned silence among the crowd followed the girl’s outburst. It was not uncommon to see sights like these at these horrible events, but one never really gets used to them. The girl was clinging onto the muscular woman; her head buried in the other’s arms, her heaving shoulders told me that she’s crying. My hand squeezed Petale’s so hard that I could feel her pulse under my fingertips. These things never end well.

  Just when the crowd’s silence was beginning to become awkward, the burly man boomed, “What in Tartarus are you doing, girl?!” and immediately went to the task of separating the two with his helper, the boy called Licinius. The girl was making it incredibly difficult, however. Thrashing and kicking, she clung on to who I can now safely assume was her friend. The muscular woman, on her part, was half-clinging to, half-consoling the girl. Not that that did anything; as with what looked like a bone-shattering yank, the burly man finally pulled the girl away while she shrieked and fought with all the might her body could muster.

  “20 _denarii_ for this upstart! A night in the brothel might do her well!” he called, his voice strained as he was trying to subdue her.  She was trying to bite him, thrashing against his body and screaming words that I can’t understand. No one called out an offer.

  I felt a soft tapping on my arm then, and so I forced my eyes to look away from the stage, straining against the glue that bound them to watch what was happening. As soon as I turned my head towards her, Petale looked at me with the same expression she often used when the harvests were bad or when something goes awry in the villa. Her eyebrows fused with worry, her mouth pursed, and her blue eyes shining with unshed tears and unrestrained concern—it was the expression she uses when she knows that my father would have to start turning people away from working for us.

_Save her, Mistress Asami_

  With a silent prayer to Vesta, I took a deep breath.

  “I can offer 25 _denarii_ for her!” I called out as loud as my voice allowed me to. The familiar sensation of every eye on me sprung up once more, only this time, the scrutiny seemed to feel more intense, every single person no doubt questioning my decision. Indeed, in their minds, why _would_ I even try to make an offer to keep such a person? Even the burly man looked at me as if I was crazy. If I was really honest with myself, I would admit that maybe I am.  But the fact that I would entertain those ideas—and even _know_ what those people were thinking—made me almost sick to my stomach. This woman isn’t chattel. Buying someone’s freedom isn’t so insane.

  To my relief, the staring did not last too long. With a shrug, the burly man called out for any counter offers, searching the crowd for any hands as well. When no one dared to offer, he nodded in my direction, dragging the girl, whose struggle seemed to cease for some reason, nearer to the steps at the far end of the stage. Pulling Petale with me, I followed the two, fishing out the _denarii_ in my purse with my other hand as I did so. For 25… the price of freedom seems so cheap, yet weighs so much.

  “Better teach this one manners, my lady. Quite bad for business, this one.” the burly man grunted as he unceremoniously handed the girl over.  Looking at her, I saw that her green eyes looked frightened, fresh tears forming at their corners. They looked around hesitantly, from my face, to Petale’s, and back to the people on the stage. Both her face and her hair were dirty and dusty, and little cuts were etched on her pale skin that was no doubt caused by the same wood splinters suspended in her hair. Looking closer, I saw that she was also trembling; her raggedy clothes—a dress that was unlike anything I’ve seen before—looked a little damp and even had some spots of mold. She wasn’t wearing anything to protect her feet. Small bruises were on her arm, as well as burns from rope on her wrists. Her hands looked bony and almost devoid of any color. She came from a slave ship, no doubt, from somewhere beyond the reaches of the empire.

  “I would cry out if I was being sold too, sir,” I replied, offering my hand to the girl. She looked at it unsurely at first, biting her lips as she did so. Mustering up all the warmth I could into a single gaze, I tried to look into her eyes, which were now as wide as saucers. I smiled at her, trying to convey that she would be alright. A heartbeat later, she finally took my hand, and then quickly scurried down the steps, her feet light against the wood. Once she was on the ground, I asked Petale to hold her behind me.

  The burly man had only grunted in response. He turned around, about to continue his auction. I had other plans, however. With another silent prayer to Vesta, I braced myself once more.

  “I’m also willing to buy the woman warrior and this other woman,” I called as loud as I could, slightly grimacing at the fact that I am literally participating at this exercise. As soon as I uttered the words, Petale rushed to my side, her mouth open as she tried to form words. I smiled at her, giving her a nod of reassurance, and she nodded in response.

  The burly man looked back at me, unsurprisingly incredulous. I felt the crowd’s eyes on me once more, but more out of surprise than of judgment. The same silence as earlier pervaded again. People, especially women like me, rarely bought three slaves in one auction, and if they do, the slaves would usually be of the same “type”—that is, warriors only, or even prostitutes only. It was pretty sickening; to buy humans as one would buy a crate of olives.

  “M-My lady,” the burly man stammered, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I must auction them off—business, as a lady in your standing would appreciate.”

  “You name your price, and I will match it. _Denarii_ or _aurei_ —it does not matter. You will be paid. I want the two women there,” I replied.

  “But my lady—”

  “My father, _Hiroshi Sato_ , will be more than _flattered_ if you help his daughter,” I raised my voice higher as I mentioned of my father’s name, internally berating myself and grimacing for using it. The crowd was understandably whispering at that point. The end would have to justify the means, in this case, or I would never live this down.

  The burly man coughed, his face turning a bright red. Quickly, he started towards me again and, upon reaching the base of the steps, bowed his head in greeting. Drawing up to me, he leaned in, right next to my ear. He smelled absolutely revolting; rotten meat and moldy wood and rancid cheese all bundled up and rushing straight into my nose. I held my breath. He whispered, in a low, raspy voice, “1300 _denarii_ for the two—discounted price for the older wench. Will the payment be made in full?”

  “Yes, of course,” I practically breathed out, trying not to get a whiff of him again. I could almost rejoice, however. Even though I would have offered all the wealth I had in our family’s coffers, 1300 _denarii_ was about as much as I could pay without having to resort to installments.

  “And will you pass on a good word about me to your father?” He replied.

  “I’ll think about it.” I responded, knowing that such a notion would be enough for him.

  To my nose’s relief, he withdrew. I had to stop a grimace, however, as his yellowing teeth were the first thing I saw as he pulled back from me—the man was grinning from ear to ear. With a spring in his step, he climbed the stairs towards the middle of the stage and, with a voice almost tinged with glee, he called out, “Auction’s over!”

  As the crowd immediately—and miraculously—started to disperse, the burly man and his helper pushed the two women towards us. Petale took them with her as I went up the steps with the other people who were buying slaves. I felt a bit ill at the prospect of paying someone for slave trading, but I could probably make an exception just this once. 1325 _denarii_ for three human lives. The exchange of money was unceremonious, save for the grin and slight bow that the burly man gave me as I approached him.

  As soon as I paid, I quickly ran towards and down the steps, wishing to get out of Circus Flaminius as soon as possible. Petale waved at me from their place near the _thermopolium;_ our three new companions were sitting on the ground, looking quite dazed. I smiled as I approached them. It seemed a little bit surreal; to suddenly have people other than my immediate family look so similar to me. Would have that added to the reason on why I… saved… them from the slave traders? Perhaps. But that would be a thought for later. They were now part of our household.

  “Have you tried talking to them, Petale?” I asked my handmaiden.

  Petale nodded in response, smiling, “They don’t know many Latin words, but the young one over here wanted to tell you something.”

   As if on cue, the girl promptly stood up from her position, dusting off her dress as much as she could. Clasping her hands together, she bowed low towards me and, when she straightened up again, I noticed her green eyes were filling up with tears once more.

  In broken, accented Latin, she whispered:

  “We give you our gratitude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some definitions first:  
> Via Flaminia = One of the roads that lead outside the “city” of Rome, which I refer to as the Capital here. Located near to Campus Martius.  
> Thermopolium = a “cook-shop”. Kind of the Ancient Greco-Roman equivalent of a fast-food joint. Has some ovens that are made of stone, and some chairs. Usually not a place where patrician classes go.  
> Stola = A toga for Roman women  
> Sestertii/sestertius =Brass coins during the Roman Empire. One-quarter of a denarius. Would have bought 1-2 loaves of bread during the time we’re using here.  
> Denarii /Denarius= Silver coins during the Roman Empire. Larger value than a sestertius  
> Aurei/Aureus = Gold coins during the Roman Empire. Equals 25 denarii.
> 
> To give a little context on money, 1,200,000 sestertii (or 300,000 denarii) is what a Roman senator might earn in a year during Augustus Caesar’s time. The value of a small farm is 100,000 sestertii (25,000 denarii), so spending 1,000 denarii on a slave is already a small fortune.  
> Asami and her dad are not patricians, just to make that clear. They’re just really wealthy plebeians. We’re also using Augustus both as the title for the Emperor and the man himself.  
> Finally, comments or questions are certainly welcome.


	2. Lychinus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, reader. This chapter is twice as long as the last one, and for good reason. I hope it was worth the wait. Bit heavier on the background this time, and more terminology (gulp). Here, you will see how much I love interrupting conversations—something that I don’t have the guts to do in real life. We have a POV switch somewhere around her as well. Gotta love the limited and biased way of first-person POV’s.  
> As usual, any definitions are at the bottom of the page. Comments and criticisms are much appreciated; I had a hard time trying to translate what I wanted to convey here after all! I hope you enjoy.
> 
> (Also, thank you to Eki-Luna for giving me ideas about many of the events that happened here and in future chapters. without her, this fic would be an absolute mess)

 

**_Asami_ **

 

  If the trek towards Circus Flaminius was unpleasant, the walk back to the Quirinal Hill was an absolute nightmare. By the time I finished paying the burly man his due and registered my name to the slave _Quaestor_ , the sun was starting to set, which meant that any Roman with a brain would be hurrying back to their houses. The Capital was extremely dangerous at night. Thieves, murderers, and rapists prowled the stone roads of Rome even as the _Vigiles_ tried to keep the peace. And so, my companions and I wasted no time in exiting out of Circus Flaminius, bracing ourselves for the onslaught of people that was no doubt waiting for us in the Forum. Not that we were prepared when we got there, however. At the Via Sacra, wave after wave of Roman citizens ran around like schools of fish desperate to get away from predators. Moving in a straight line, my companions and I held each others’ hands tightly, myself leading the way, not saying a single word as we fought against the swarm of people. We were being pushed and shoved all over the place; our bodies jostled this way and that. We even ended up on the wrong side of the road more than once. The smell of rotting fruit and meat mingled with the smell of sweat permeated the breeze. Shouts for last minute sales, unsettled quarrels, and calls for lost children and companions were deafening. The _Vigiles’_ yells for order only added to the chaos. I couldn’t hear myself think. The sights, the smells, and the sounds overwhelmed my senses to the point that I almost wished the gods would bless Rome with a plague.

  About an hour later, we had finally arrived at the street leading up to the Quirinal Hill. It was still a little crowded in this area, but not as terrible as the Via Sacra. There were more of the _Vigiles_ there, too, mostly due to the fact that many of the wealthier citizens of Rome lived in this region. Nevertheless, we treaded carefully, still holding hands until we saw the red roofs of the _domus_ on the Quirinal Hill.

  As we arrived at the crest of the Hill, I turned around to look at my new charges—the first time I did since going onto the Via Sacra—and felt myself smile as I saw the wonder in their eyes. The greens and blues looked a little tired, but nonetheless gaped at the houses on the Quirinal Hill, making me wonder if that was the first time they saw Roman _domus_. They were gasping, quietly murmuring as they saw trimmed up gardens with colorful statues of the gods decorating the spaces between the hedges. The girl and the muscular woman even started to point their fingers at some houses, smiling as they whispered in their own language. It was funny, in a way. They were looking at things that seemed so normal to me in the same way I looked at them: with genuine curiosity at something so new. They looked so different and yet so similar to me, the girl and the older woman especially. Seeing their faces—even holding their hands—made me feel just a tad warmer as the cool winds of dusk passed us by. Where did these women come from, I wondered as we walked. At that point, I led them through the street slowly, even as day was losing its battle to night; we were a little safer there now, anyway. We hiked in silence, Petale breaking it to ask me a question once in a while.

  As we trekked away from the street and my father’s house came into view, Petale touched my hand, asking me (in a playful tone) to look at our companions once more. Once I turned around, I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. The three of them, even the older woman, had open mouths and their eyes were shining with unrestrained surprise. I can’t blame them; from the outside, my father’s house was one of the more imposing structures on the Quirinal Hill. Its tall, pale white sandstone walls were smooth, and seemed to tower over all those who entered the rooms they protected. Its red roofs were just a shade darker than the other _domus_ around our area and, with the sun hitting it just right, looked as if it was on fire, in stark contrast to the pale walls. Just a little bit below that roof was a frieze that depicted the triumph of Lucius Tarquinius Priscus, the legendary fifth king of Rome, as he marched through Rome on his chariot to receive his fellow citizens’ accolades, depicted in marble with great detail. The wide spaces a little beyond the outer steps of the house—the _tabernae_ —usually contained the storefronts for our oil and wheat, but now contained the enormous marble statues of Fortuna, Saturn, Ceres, and Jupiter—all with the stern, solemn faces that Roman sculptors seemed to love.

  I let them take all of that in for a moment; it was quite amusing to see their eyes flickering about, as if in a trance, trying to register everything in. Once the sun had fully set and a colder breeze started to tussle the hairs on our heads, however, I gestured them to follow me up the steps that led to the _domus’s_ atrium. Petale giggled as our three companions quietly followed us inside, their necks still craning at the grandeur.

  “Father, I’m home!” I cried out. Petale and I started to switch our _calcei_ for our indoor _soleae_ at the entrance of the atrium. Technically, many Romans go barefoot inside their houses, but father had always said that wearing sandals inside the home was more “Sato-like”, stemming from the fact that my grandfather insisted on it. Indeed, gramps was one of those “clean clean clean!” guys.

  After putting on my _soleae_ , I felt a small tap on my shoulder. It was the girl, looking at me expectantly, and her bright eyes were still quite wide. She was gesturing at her sandals—dirty, leather hide torn up from use—which she held in one hand, and then pointed a finger at her companions, who both held their footwear up as well. Did they also change their shoes to inside sandals back in their country? Getting the message, I nodded at them. “We have some spare ones over here,” I said, exaggeratedly gesturing at a small cabinet near the entrance of the house, fully aware that they couldn’t understand me.

  Thankfully, Petale could. My handmaiden quickly opened the small cabinet. “These should fit you well,” she said, pulling out three pairs of sandals that more or less looked just about right for them. The girl flashed a small grin, taking the sandals with her before distributing the other two pairs to the older women. They quickly pulled them on, with surprising ease.

  It was at that point that I realized something: we haven’t introduced ourselves.

  “I forgot! Our names!” I cried, once they finished putting the sandals on. They looked up at me expectedly. Pointing to my chest first, I continued slowly, “Um… _Nomen… As-a-mi_ ”. Pointing to Petale next, I said, “ _Pe-ta-le_ ”.

  The crude introduction was met with mixed results. The older woman had a small frown, her face scrunched up in confusion. The taller, muscular woman had an eyebrow raised. The girl, on the other hand, had a lopsided smile that seemed eager to understand but still a little bemused. I heard Petale suppress a small chuckle, which I quickly replied to by gently swatting her arm.

  “We’ll just have to keep repeating ourselves, mistress,” Petale said, amusement in her voice. She pointed to herself, “ _Pe-ta-le_. My name is Petale. And this is Mistress—”

  “Asami? Is that you?” I heard the voice of my father call. Every one of us turned towards the drain pool in the middle of the atrium. Sure enough, my father was standing near it, a grin decorating his face.

  “Father!” I replied, almost tackling him with a hug. He chuckled, returning the embrace. Once we let go of each other, I saw him beam at me, his eyes squinting just a little bit more than they usually did. “Vision’s getting worse, huh?” I pointed it out, grimacing. For as long as I can remember, my father’s eyes had been getting bad. We have tried—and were still trying—many different remedies to cure it, but none seemed to work.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he replied, with a small smile. “Why, I bet you I would still see the hairs in Jupiter’s nose if he ever comes and shows himself to me! See, I can even see how ragged you are. They really should fix the traffic over at the Forum.”

  I shrugged, “It was a nightmare going there, really. But I expected nothing less for the Capital.”

  “Indeed! And oh!” He seemed to jump, finally noticing the people behind us. He walked towards our new companions, pulling me with him and squinting his eyes a little harder as he spoke, “Speaking of expectations, were we expecting guests?”

  “Ah! These are… Well…” I replied sheepishly.

  My father paused at that. His brow furrowed, searching my face for answers. His eyes narrowed as well, but I could still see the piercing bronze of his irises. I gulped. “I impulsively brought them home from the slavers at Circus Flaminius, father,” isn’t exactly a good way to introduce them. Under his questioning gaze, I fell silent, unsure of what to say.

  After a few moments of staring at me, he finally smiled, to my immense relief. “Oh. I see!” He nodded slightly, and then proceeded to size up the three ladies. It was quite a comical sight. For some reason, they mirrored each other’s movements. My father walked around them, squinting more as he did so, and the three of them squinted back. He’d tilt his head, and they’d tilt their heads too. He’d frown, and they’d frown back. He’d smile, and each one of them would grin in return. Finally, my father chuckled and, extending a hand to the oldest woman, said, “Hello! I am Hiroshi Sato, purveyor of olives and oils. Welcome to my home—and your home as well, if I read my daughter correctly.”

  The three of them looked at my father’s outstretched hand, looked his face, and then looked at me as if asking permission. I nodded, gesturing at them to shake his hand. I was still a little bemused at the last statement—what exactly did he mean by “read my daughter correctly”?

  “Foreign-born, I presume?” My father continued as he shook their hands in turn, “I trust that they have not learned Latin, Asami?”

  I shook the thoughts off of my head. “That is correct. Although this younger one knows a little,” I replied, nodding towards the girl, smiling at her.

  “You have not learned their names?”

  I heard Petale giggle before I replied, “We were trying to introduce ourselves before you came, father.”

  “And unsuccessfully at that, if little Petale’s amusement is something to go by,” my father said. He flashed a grin towards my handmaiden before turning back to me with a small smile, “No matter. We will get to that in due time.”

  “In due time?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m afraid I must speak to you in private, my dear,” he replied, walking towards the drain pool again, “It’s nothing too urgent, but I do want to get this over with before day truly leaves us.”

  “I understand,” I said. My father rarely talks about business after nightfall, hence this insistence.

  “Excellent. I shall meet you in my study. And,” He faced our new companions again, “it was a pleasure to meet you three, truly. This household needs a little something new once in a while.”

  With a small chuckle and a bow, my father walked towards his study.

  “Well, looks like the boss man needs me. Could you tour them around for a bit, Petale?” I asked, turning to my handmaiden with a grimace.

  Petale had a shit-eating grin as she wiggled her eyebrows. “Someone’s in trouble,” she replied, tauntingly.

  “And _someone else_ wouldn’t get that brooch _she_ wanted to buy at the Via Sacra,” I retorted.

  “You promised!” Petale immediately yelped. She was eyeing the golden brooch earlier as we were walking, and I told her I’d buy it tomorrow if I had the time to go to the Forum.

  Triumphant, I replied, “Just tour them around before we go to bed. I shouldn’t take long, so I’ll meet you guys at the gardens once I’m done.”

Petale nodded, still with a small frown. Turning to the three ladies, she gestured to them to come along with her. The three, knowing the routine by now, quickly followed my handmaiden.

  “Now then,” I muttered to myself, grimacing a little, “may Vesta be with me.”

* * *

**_Petale_ **

 

  “And this is one of our many bedrooms!” I said, looking at the three ladies behind me. It’s been a few minutes since we started our tour, but they still looked quite surprised at everything. It was kind of cute. Both the older one and the muscular one gaped a lot; have they not seen the inside of any kind of house before? The younger one, on the other hand, was especially enamored by Master Hiroshi’s house. It reminded me of how Mistress Asami was when she first saw how _triremes_ were built; and the younger one’s slight resemblance to her added to the effect. Of course, I say “the younger one”, but she did look a bit older… and taller… than I am, but no matter. _Besides_ , I am technically the _oldest_ in the tour if we’re going by how long I’ve been living in this house. These guys are like newborns compared to me.

  “We’ll assign you guys some rooms later,” I said as they looked around the room. The room used to be occupied by two servants—who went to Greece about a year ago, I think—so two of them could probably sleep in there. There were even two separate beds, and the room was one of the bigger ones. “Not that you can understand what I’m saying, of course,” I continued, “but I feel like it would be bad manners not to tell you anything.”

  We took a good a good half an hour over the rest of the bedrooms. It was quite fun. In each of the rooms, they would look inside the cabinets and drawers quite closely, and I saw how they’d curiously look at each object that they’d find. At one point, the older woman even found an old hairpin, still quite shiny in its gold, and gestured at me if she could put it on her hair. It looked like it suited her, really, which I confirmed after fastening it. She almost looked like one of the older women that used to live here, if it weren’t for the fact that she looked more like a relative of Mistress Asami.

  After we looked over the bedrooms, I showed them the two alcoves farther inside the house. They kept the altars of the gods here, as well as the death-mask of Mistress Asami’s paternal grandfather and her mother. This was my least favorite part of our home. The alcoves were simple with its marble altars and little statues of the gods. I liked that bit. But the death-masks always gave me the creeps.

  “Oh? Is something wrong?” I asked, noticing the muscular woman. She was hulking down at one of the altars, frowning at the little statue of Jupiter, which was frowning back at her. I would have been laughing if it weren’t for how serious she looked; there was something I couldn’t pick up in her eyes—remorse, perhaps? Is it sadness? Longing? For some reason, their blueness seemed a little more intense than I remembered—a little brighter than before—but it stood in stark contrast to the melancholic expression she was giving. I approached her, intending to pat her on the shoulder, which would have been a bit difficult because she stood almost as tall as Mistress Asami.

  However, as I reached out, I saw something bright flash in front of me, momentarily blinding my eyes. It was a quick burst of white light; two blinks and it was gone. When I came to, I saw that the muscular woman was looking at me, her face scrunched with concern—and her eyes looking a little more like I remembered. The girl and the older woman were behind me, and they were speaking a language I didn’t understand. Apparently I almost landed on my bottom, as I was slouching against the arms of the girl. The older woman came up in front of me then. She looked more worried than I thought was necessary. She briefly glanced at the muscular woman behind her, and said something that sounded like she was chiding her. The muscular woman probably said an apology at that, and the older woman looked at me again.

  “Guys, I’m fine, really,” I said. And it was true. I felt a little woozy and I was pretty sure I was still seeing stars, but I felt alright. In fact, I felt just a tad warmer, which wasn’t unpleasant as the cold air had started to seep inside our house. It felt like how I feel when I approach the hearth in the Temple of Vesta during the _Vestalia_ ; warm, friendly, relaxing, and in a way, like I was being welcomed home. But despite my assurances, the older woman still looked at me worriedly. It was nice of her, I guess. I smiled at her, straightening up as I did, and murmuring that I was alright. Not that that did anything. It was only after the girl said something to her that the old woman finally shrugged and straightened up, though still looking a tiny bit concerned.

  “Right. So, uh. This is where we keep the altars,” I continued. Gotta play it cool for the new folk, after all. “The _Lares_ ’ shrine is over by the atrium out front, but you might have already seen that, so I guess we’re continuing over to the other side of the house?”

  Taking their silence as a yes, I led them deeper inside the house, passing by the closed-off _tablinum_ that was Master Hiroshi’s study. We went over by the dining room then, a large room with a few _klinai_ on three of the sides. I showed them how to lie down on those couches, all three looking amused as I tried to imitate how we typically ate our meals. The worry on the old woman’s face gradually melted, and girl even started laughing at me as I gestured how one of the fatter visitors in our house ate his meals during a meeting once, practically inhaling about half of the food that we had set out. I held my body so I was walking from side to side, and then exaggeratedly ate an imaginary piece of bread. The three of them were in hysterics as we left the room.

  The second door from the dining room led to the huge _peristylium_ in our home. I loved staying there, and looking at my companions, I could tell they liked it as well. The Sato _peristylium_ was the standard open courtyard complete with the _peristyle_ —the covered porch that surrounded it—but the garden in the middle looked quite unlike any a Roman has ever seen before. The shrubs and flowers were only on the outside edges of the huge rectangular garden, framing the inner area that was filled with pearly white sand. The sand seemed so peaceful, uninterrupted by anything except the fish ponds that dotted it, filled with colorful foreign fish. There were stone fountains between the ponds as well, but painted to look a little more like wood, which I really liked. I led my three gaping charges through the stone walkway in the middle, giggling to myself as they took in the site.

  “Normally, the lanterns over there would be lighted up,” I said, pointing to them at the each corner of the porch, “but everyone is out preparing for festivities for _Augustus_ … or at that new wine bar at the Via Sacra. So we’d only be three people here, which would be a waste of oil. Which is sad because this place is really nice if the lanterns are lit.”

  They didn’t understand me, of course, but they still nodded their heads after I finished, which I appreciated. “I might ask Master Hiroshi to open them later,” I mused out loud, wondering if that seemed a bit too childish of a request. I’m almost fourteen, after all.

  We stayed over at the gardens for a little more, and then I led them to the kitchen at the far end of the porch. Again, our kitchen was a little different from other homes, but only because we had a chimney at the end. Everything else was about as standard as you could get. But even though I liked eating food, I didn’t like being there. I heard myself sigh uncontrollably once we entered. According to Mistress Asami, cooking for the household used to be my mother’s job. She was insistent on doing it, they said, even though they didn’t want her to work. She was pregnant with me at that time. They said that it was the fumes—even with that chimney—that made it harder for her to give birth to me, which was why she died.

  “My mother was the last slave that Master Hiroshi bought,” I whispered to no one; my companions started rummaging around the room, “They already petitioned for her ‘official’ freedom, but she died before the ceremony could be performed.”

  “And well, children of slaves become slaves too. That’s why I’m still technically a slave,” I continued. My voice came out a little sadder than I intended, I guess, since the girl came over to me looking mildly concerned. She really did have eyes like Mistress Asami’s. I chuckled at that. “Don’t worry,” I smiled at her, “it’s only until I’m of age. Which is in a couple of weeks.”

  Seeing my smile made her grin a little, but she still looked a little worried. I shook my head, chuckling as I did so, before calling on them again.

  “Alright, guys. We have a few minor rooms left and then we’ll go back to the gar—oh?”

  I stopped and did a quick headcount. 1… 2… and 3 makes me. We were missing one! Oh man. I counted us again, making sure I didn’t just miss a person. Nope, still just three people. I went outside to the gardens, and there was no one there. Looking back around the room for an embarrassingly long time, I saw me, the girl, the old woman, and… just us.

  “Oh man. Mistress Asami’s gonna kill me.”

* * *

  ** _Asami_ **

 

  “Everything is set for Petale’s ceremony,” My father suddenly announced. I felt my jaw drop. We had barely sat down on the couches in his study, but apparently the statement had already been in his throat before we even entered the room.

  “R-Really? That’s good news,” I replied, a little incredulous. Of all the things that I thought he would have said, this was the last on the list. Not that what he said was bad, but with the seriousness of his tone earlier, I thought it would be something more, well, serious.

  He smiled, “Yes. Once the harvests are over, come back here and the officials will be ready.”

  “That’s wonderful! She’s been waiting for so long,” I replied, genuinely excited this time. The issue of Petale’s status had always been a cloud over us ever since her mother died. Apparently she had been “too young” to be emancipated as an infant—a stipulation I’ve never even heard of, but was not surprised at. And so she lived her “public” life as a slave, while living as a “real” member of our family at home. Thirteen years of slavery and we couldn’t do anything about it. Not me, not my father, and not even… my mother.

  “Mama… worked so hard for this,” I said, the earlier giddiness subsiding. Using the wealth we gained from the olive harvests, we bought and freed every slave we could, while my mother kept trying to influence public opinion on slavery. I remembered how hard she fought to have her voice heard at the gatherings in the Capital. Roman women didn’t have as much rights as men did, but my mother never really minded that. Slaves, she said, should be offered the same claims to citizenship as any conquered nation had. The whole thing cost my mother her life, but in return, a lot of innocent people had been helped.

  “Your mother didn’t give up on that, yes,” my father gently replied. I could see the look of sadness in his eyes—far away, glazed over. I was six when she died. Petale was only three. My father was at the villa overseeing the last of the harvest. We were here at the Quirinal Hill. My mother was watching us play in the garden when someone called her out to the street. The wounds never healed; not for her, and not for us.

  To my surprise, however, my father suddenly chuckled. “And you’re going to do the exact same thing she’s about to do, aren’t you?” He asked. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but the genuine grin he had on his face belied the sorrow of his words. “Those three will be quite the handful,” he continued, not waiting for my answer, “but it will be doable. Just tough. You are aware of the provisions the _Imperator_ has made?”

  “Slaves are being freed at an alarming rate, so he’s trying to limit it,” I replied, not bothering to hide my disgust.

  “Indeed. So we’d better be careful. And oh,” my father furrowed his brow, “why _did_ you… acquire them, my dear?”

  That was the big question, of course. I swallowed hard.

  “Well, you see…” I tried to reply.

  “It is quite… Impulsive, do you think not,” he interrupted. His tone wasn’t chastising, but curious, just as he usually was. He was sitting behind his desk now, looking at me with a kind, squinted gaze, “Like your mother, I’d say.”

  “Have you seen them, Papa?” I replied, finally getting the words out, “The girl and the old woman… Even Petale saw that they looked like us.” I paused and, taking a deep breath, told my father the thought that’s been in my mind since meeting our new companions at the Circus, “I want to know where they come from; who they are. They aren’t Greek or Roman or Gaul or anything—but they look like us. Aren’t you at least a little curious?”

  My father frowned slightly, “And the tanner one? The one who looks more like a gladiator?”

  I grimaced, “That girl seemed to like her so…”

  A few heartbeats passed. And then a few more. And just before I opened my mouth to give a better statement, my father actually laughed at my reply, to my relief. He was wiping his eyes as he said, “Of course she does.”

  I shook my head and sat down on one of the chairs in front of him. Lifting my feet a bit off the ground made me realize how much we’ve walked and how utterly tired I was. “I will take care of them at the villa. They’ll work for us. I’ll submit the petition to the local official back home; they already look of age anyway,” I replied, massaging a foot.

  “Good. But, I am still concerned about how this will affect… our other business,” my father said, and suddenly I was nervous again. There was only one thing that was left to “discuss”.

  “Your fiancé will come tomorrow, dear.”

  I nodded. My throat was suddenly extremely dry. My fiancé would come to pick me up early tomorrow and “get to know me”, so to speak, which was a part of the terms my father set for the engagement.

  “And well… I feel like I should tell you of our current situation,” my father said. “You see—“

  “The harvests were bad these past three years,” I continued for him. I could hear the edge of sadness, one that I was trying to conceal, in my voice, “I know. Which is why I need to marry him, yes?”

  “That is… Correct. Quite like you to conclude,” my father replied, a little sheepish. The harvest being bad for a few years, and the augurs telling of more bad harvests to come, my father couldn’t possibly sustain our size of a household anymore.  In Rome, the dowry given to the groom’s family usually consisted of servants in addition to some money. Patrician marriages meant a step higher in social and sometimes in economic class, too. It was a simple conclusion.

  “Did you say that my servants will remain servants?” I asked. It was nigh impossible for freedmen to be reverted back to slaves, but I wanted to make sure.

  “His family is looking for servants and laborers,” my father replied, “And they’ll pay them with salaries once you enter their home. I made sure of that.”

  “I see.”

  My father continued, “but Asami, please don’t cause any trouble.”

  My eyebrow shot up at the statement. “What do you mean?”

  My father walked over to the small window of the study, looking out towards the garden. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “This slave business needs to take pause after you’re married, my dear,” my father quietly said.

  I immediately stood up from my chair. Before I opened my mouth to argue, however, my father put a hand up to silence me. “And the fact that you are so interested in those three women’s roots makes this all the more imperative. Take them in our household, Asami, but nothing more,” he finished.

  I could hear my heart starting to pound in my chest. “What are you saying? Are we discarding what mother was fighting for, _and_ disregarding the fact that these people have an uncanny resemblance to us?” I asked, my voice rising.

  My father turned around and met my eyes. Piercing, fierce bronze connected to my green. The next words he uttered had the tone of command, the same grim voice he used to speak to the public: “By rights we are _Roman_ , Asami. By being this petulant, you are undermining the work your grandfather had done. And you are undermining the situation our house is currently in.”

  I looked at him, more than a little confused. Why would my grandfather’s work be undermined? Why was asking those three about where they come from so harmful?

  It was then that I realized something—something that I’ve always found a bit odd about us, something that had to do with my being a sore thumb on the Via Sacra. “Our names… Those little things we do that differ us from the others… They aren’t just because of our own brand of ancient Roman traditions or anything, are they? And our features aren’t just because of some exotic blood that wandered into our family like you said, are they? We’re… more than a little foreign, aren’t we? Even by Roman standards.” my voice was a whisper, but my father stiffened when he heard my words. I often thought about all those things—about why we were so different. I could feel myself shaking, out of anger or sadness, I didn’t know. We were only ever judged because of our features, which would be remedied by the marriage. Then why did my father seem almost… threatened? Was there something more to the issue than I thought there was? And even if we were a little more foreign, my father’s admonition didn’t make sense too; Rome was not the type to shun its foreign-born citizens.

  “We must blend with the patricians, Asami,” my father said after a few minutes, his voice softer this time. “We will not condone slavery, but we must stop sticking out too much.”

  “Then why did we never change our names?! And what in Tartarus happened to the man my mother married?” I shot back. I could feel tears of frustration threatening to run down my cheeks. I looked away from my father’s face.

  A few minutes of tense silence followed, neither one of us moving nor looking at each other. I was still shaking, but more out of irritation this time. I didn’t understand myself. Were we not just odd-looking, oddly-named Romans, as my mother often assured me?

  “You are dismissed.” My father said, his voice devoid of any emotion. I did not look at him. I did not say anything.

  I left his study, tears streaming down my face.

* * *

  ** _Asami_ **

 

  The alcoves that contained the altars of the gods were where I found myself listlessly walking to. But I wasn’t walking without purpose. The souls of my mother and grandfather had already boarded Charon’s boat long ago, but their likenesses were still there, and still of comfort to me. To visit them, so to speak, would do me well. I wiped my tears as I walked, and found myself calmer as I approached the alcoves.

  “… Oh?”

  A slight movement at one of the altars caught my eye. Craning my neck, I saw the back of a lone figure at the altar of Jupiter, unmoving, illuminated only be the candlelight in front of it. I briefly thought it was Petale, before I (stupidly) realized that Petale wasn’t that tall, tan, muscular, or drawn to the alcoves in the first place.

  “Are you lost?” I called out, approaching the muscular woman. Her back was still turned, but her shoulder twitched slightly. I tapped the small of her back, preparing a small smile. As she turned, however, a bright light flashed, momentarily blinding me. I felt myself falling to the ground as if someone shoved me back. Something hot danced on my skin, enveloping me in what felt like a nice fire: warm enough to make my cheeks red, but cool enough that I didn’t feel uncomfortable.

  As quick as the sensation came over me, so it was gone. A wave of disappointment washed over as it left; the feeling was nice and calming, and to have it taken away made me feel a tiny bit emptier than before. My eyelids fluttered open then, fresh tears forming in my eyes. It was then that I saw blue—light and clear as the sky during day—peering in front of me with concern.

  “H-Hello,” I said. The muscular woman’s face was right in front of me, her breath warming my nose. I could feel her hand on my arm, gently and gradually lifting me up. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, our eyes still staring at each other.

  “A-Are you lost?” I asked again, struggling to get the words out at first. Her hand was still on my arm and it felt… nice. It felt strong and sure, stable but gentle. My throat felt like it was closing up, for some reason. I found myself staring at her, really taking her features in this time, instead of the passing glances that I did when we were outside. Despite the scars and patchy eyebrows, she did not look unhandsome. In fact, coupled with her strong jaw, the scars made her look quite like those attractive gladiators I often reluctantly watched. Short, dark brown hair framed her face, and her skin looked browner than tan now that I really looked. There were soft lines at the corners of her mouth and near her eyes, telling me that she would have laughed a lot back in her home. A soft little nose completed her look. She appeared kind but tough… and quite beautiful, if I was being honest. I swallowed what seemed like a lump of clay. A small part of me felt drawn to her for some reason, wanting to touch the slight puffiness of her cheeks, or to see if her jaw felt as strong as it looked.

_Oh dear._

  Shaking those thoughts off of my head, I tried to smile at her. It might have come off as a grimace, however, since she looked more concerned after I did so. It was kind of adorable of her; her face was scrunched up in an almost exaggerated way. I found myself chuckling at that.

  “Uhh…” she muttered, sounding more weirded out than concerned at this point. I shook my head in response, waving my hand out in a “don’t mind it” way.

  “Shall I introduce myself again?” I asked, still grinning. She cocked her head a bit to the side—was that deliberate? It was kind of cute. I pointed to myself as I did earlier in the atrium, “My name is Asami—”

  “Oh gods! There you are, Muscles!”

  I blinked. The call sounded far away at first, so much so that I thought I was hearing voices. A few moments after, however, I heard Petale’s cheerful voice behind me and sure enough, once I turned around, I saw my handmaiden bounding towards us with the two other women in tow.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress Asami!” My handmaiden shouted, unceremoniously throwing herself in my arms as she did so. Petale wasn’t heavy for a thirteen year old, but the impact very nearly knocked me back to the ground. Thankfully, the muscular woman was still behind me. Her sturdy body caught us before we fell on our bottoms.

  "Careful, dear,” I replied, chuckling despite myself, my earlier concern gone, “And it’s alright. No one was hurt or lost or anything, it just seemed like our companion likes the altar over here.”

  “She does!” Petale exclaimed, “She was looking over Jupiter over here earlier.”

  “Oh? That’s quite curious. But at least she likes it,” I replied.

  It was then that I noticed how dark it suddenly was—wasn’t the candle lighted earlier? Could it have been snuffed out by the wind, perhaps? And that flash of light—what was it?

  “Petale, you didn’t light the candles here earlier, did you?” I asked, frowning.

  Petale thought for a moment, and then shook her head, “No, Mistress. I was going to in a little while, but Muscles here got lost before the sun went down.”

  “I see. That’s strange,” I furrowed my brow, “And… why Muscles?”

  “Because she’s muscular,” came Petale’s curt reply, her tone matter-of-factly.

  I laughed. Of course she was.

  "Well, it’s a bit too late to light candles now. Why don’t we get to bed?”

  “Of course, Mistress.”

  “Their rooms will be the ones next to yours,” I said, looking at the three, who were silently and patiently watching our exchange. They still looked quite wide-eyed and confused. A quick idea formed in my head at that, which I quietly related to Petale, “Can you teach them some Latin while I’m away tomorrow? I’ll try to get them a proper tutor, or tutor them myself later, but just the basics for now, if you can.”

  Petale’s grin couldn’t have been wider, “Of course! They’ll be singing praises to Bacchus once I’m done with them!”

  “Let’s start with Vesta, shall we?” I said, giggling at the prospect of my handmaiden trying to teach the three. Petale was always patient in everything she does—except when it came to learning, that is. It would be quite interesting to see her try to teach.

  “Understood!”

  “Well, I should be getting to bed,” I replied. With a quick nod and a grin to each of my charges, I said good night. Lighting a small lamp to take with me, I left them at the alcoves, heading towards my room.

  As I approached my door, I felt a slight wetness on my cheeks. It was quite dry already, but I could still feel its trace. I touched it, feeling the coolness of the tears on my fingers. Was that why the muscular woman looked so concerned? The language of grief is, after all, something so inherently with us; something that the gods and fates made sure was within our being.

  With a shake of my head, I entered my room. With a quick breath, I blew out my small light and, with the gracefulness of a bull, collapsed on my bed.

* * *

  **_Asami_ **

 

  “How do you like this place?”

  “It’s… amazing.”

  It was quite an odd idea to take your future bride to an armory as a way to gain her favor, but I was not complaining. My fiancé and I had departed quite early from the Quirinal Hill, and quite quickly too—I was basically thrown into a litter. As I endured the slightly uncomfortable sensation of being carried by people I didn’t know, I silently wondered why we were going so far away from the residential district of the Capital, and was starting to get worried as the hours went on. My concerns were unfounded, however, as my fiancé showed me what was waiting for us at Campus Martius: a huge armory, filled with the best equipment built in the Empire. No wonder we had to go outside of the _pomerium_.

  “Well I’m glad to hear that. Hiroshi gave me pointers,” my fiancé replied, amused at my gaping. I couldn’t help myself, of course. I did not really expect to be in such a place—one that showed the wealth of a family the old “Roman Way”: through weapons and armor. But I shouldn’t have been so surprised. My fiancé’s name was Publius Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus, quite a mouthful. Publius, as he told me to call him, was part of the patrician _stirps_ Lentulus, of the ancient and illustrious (and politically influential) _gens_ _Cornelia_. Most of the men in his family were consuls and senators. His father, also called Publius Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus, had commanded one of Julius Caesar’s defenses from Pompey during the Civil War, and even served a term as a praetor a few years ago.

  In short, I was engaged to a man that was not only patrician, but also a member of a political dynasty. It was, in a sense, an uneven match.

  “You must find it unusual that I like these things,” I said, smiling at him. “Then again, it is already highly unusual of you to consider a marriage between our families.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think so. Your father helped mine a lot. And besides,” He flashed a small smile, “these days names are becoming less of an issue.”

  “Try not having a family that can trace its lineage to those old hags back in the day,” I replied, shaking my head with amusement. Thoughts of my conversation with my father surfaced in my memories, but I quickly shook them off.

  “It’s just old blood, really,” Publius said, still smiling. “ _Augustus_ is starting to reward people for their merits, not their names. But yes, thank Jupiter mine has both.”

  “See, you get where I’m coming from!”

  “Indeed!”

  After that exchange, we spent the afternoon looking and conversing about the various items within the armory. The place was amazing; so much innovation was contained in the long hall, all for me to see. Various swords and shields glittered in their racks. Armor, some dented and lightly blood stained, lined one section of the room. Stringed bows and arrows crowded the section opposite of the armor racks. At the back, there were huge, wooden contraptions that looked like they were still being built. I couldn’t help but imagine ways of improving them. They all looked incredible, but some part of my mind wanted to pick each armor and weapon apart and try to develop something better and stronger.

  My companion on the other hand, had been quite likable. As we talked about the weapons and armor, he probed me for my opinion on them, which I was more than happy to give him. He listened earnestly, asking me questions about why I came to this or that suggestion on this or that weapon. He seemed quite intelligent too; he was incredibly knowledgeable about the process of making most of the items inside the hall. And, for every suggestion I made, he thought up something that would add onto it, taking my idea one step further, but never taking on a condescending tone. I was quite charmed. It helped that his features were easy on the eyes as well: lightly tanned skin, scruffy short brown hair, and thick and dark eyebrows that framed kind brown eyes.

  “Your father’s right,” Publius suddenly said. We were looking over some of the swords again, talking about their production. “You’re quite knowledgeable about these things, aren’t you?”

  I giggled, “I just like tinkering with things, really.”

  “I have heard about that! Your father tells me you’ve been thinking of inventions for olive oil extraction back at your villa, yes?” He looked at me, curiosity in his eyes.

  I could feel my cheeks redden. Few people outside my family have ever taken interest on my inventions, and even then they always thought they’d fail. But my fiancé looked so genuinely interested in what I had to say.

  “Yes, I have been for a while. I’m still working on it, though,” I replied.

  “I can’t wait to see it then,” he said. “Rome really should listen to its women more—how far would we go if we considered opinions like yours!”

  “Thank you,” I grinned. I could feel my cheeks starting to hurt—have I really been smiling that much?

  We finished our little adventure a little past noon, after eating a small lunch of bread and cheese. Once we went outside, my fiancé took my hand, leading me towards the litters once more.

  Feeling a little more comfortable about voicing my opinion, I squeezed his hand and said, “I’m not comfortable with people I don’t know carrying me, Publius.”

  Publius chuckled at that, squeezing my hand back. “Don’t worry. These are what slaves are born for, darling.”

  I felt my heart suddenly skip a beat at his statement. If I wasn’t so far away from the Quirinal Hill, I would have run away immediately, far away from the man holding my hand and grinning cheerily. My feet felt like marble; my breath started to hitch. I bit my lip. I felt faint with each step that took us towards the _slaves_ near the litters.

  “Here we are,” I could hear Publius announce, leading me towards the litter that I rode. “This will take you home to your father, and I mine will go straight to the Palatine. You don’t have to pay them back,” he said, nodding towards the three men in front of us.

  I could only mumble a small reply, “I see.”

  “Thank you for meeting me today, Asami,” He said. I could see that he was still smiling at me. “I must admit that I thought your father was odd for suggesting this, but I can now find the merit.”

  “Thank you for showing this to me, Publius,” I replied, trying my best to smile.

  “It was no problem. I hope you liked it.”

  “I did, truly.”

  “Then I hope to see you once more,” Publius said, kissing the back of my hand. With a small nod, he went towards his litter, disappeared within its confines, and was lifted up by four strong men.

  I turned towards my own retinue. The four men didn’t look too bad, nor did they look abused. They didn’t even have those ghastly collars some patricians made slaves wear. But my heart was heavy. I went to each of them, thanked them for their service, gave each of them five _denarii_ , and reluctantly boarded the litter.

  It was when Campus Martius was out of sight did I remember the reputation that the _Lentuli,_ my fiancé’s family, had. They were, as the people said, the haughtiest family in their _gens_. My fiancé didn’t seem haughty, but then again, the father teaches the son.

  “Why did it end up like that,” I muttered. The day was only starting.

* * *

_**Asami** _

 

  “I’m home, Petale,” I called out, quickly entering our atrium. After paying the men once more, I realized that I was emotionally and physically tired.

  “Mistress Asami! We’re in the third bedroom!” I heard Petale shout back. I allowed myself a small smile at that.

  After changing to my indoor sandals, I quickly went towards the room Petale said they were in. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom, I recalled, since there were desks and chairs inside it. I knocked at the door as soon as I reached it, bracing myself for a hug from my handmaiden.

  “Mistress Asami!” Petale yelped, leaping into my arms as expected. I chuckled and ruffled her hair. My earlier tiredness seemed to melt away at the sight of the young girl’s smile.

  “I’m home! And oh,” I replied, “What are you doing in here?”

  Petale seemed to smile a little brighter than usual. “I’m teaching them Latin, Mistress. And we’re making great progress!” She said.

  I blinked at her for a moment, trying to wrack my head for an explanation as to why she would undertake such a thing. And then, as if hit by a cart, I remembered our conversation last night. I shook my head at the realization, giggling as I did so.

  “That’s amazing, my dear,” I replied. I gave my handmaiden a gentle squeeze.

  But Petale seemed to have another idea. She pulled away from my embrace as soon as I had given it, and then quickly bolted out of the room. “I needed to go to the bathroom though!” She called out as she ran, leaving me in front of the door.

  “That child has been blessed with endless energy,” I quietly muttered to myself. Shaking my head, I slowly entered the room.

  “Oh hello!” I announced. The muscular woman was at one of the desks, writing on a diptych _cerae_. She looked up at me with a smile, waving as she did so. I waved back. The two other women were not in the room, for some reason. I would have to ask Petale about that later.

  “What are you writing, dear?” I asked, moving towards the muscular woman’s desk. As if understanding my question, she held up her _cerae_ , pointing to two words written on the wax surface.

  I took the tablet from her hands and read the words. “Asami… Oh! That’s my name!” I said, grinning at her. I pointed to the word on the other side, “And this is Petale’s name!”

  The muscular woman nodded enthusiastically at that. She held out her hand then, so I gave her the tablet back. She quickly smoothed out the wax with the flat end of her stylus, and then scribbled something on the tablet with the pointier end of the bone.

  She handed me the tablet again after a few moments. I accepted it and, peering at the word written on it, I felt my smile grow a little bigger.

  “Is this your name?” I asked her.

  The muscular woman nodded. With a toothy grin, she opened her mouth to reply. As soon as I heard the sound of her voice, I felt my heart throb a little, and warmth slowly rose to my cheeks. She took my other hand and shook it, and then offered me a seat next to her. I sat down, of course, but not out of politeness; my knees were curiously about to give out.

  “My name is Korra. It is nice to meet you, Asami.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions time:  
> Quaestor: In Ancient Rome, these are the people in charge of expenditures. Thus, Quaestors also handle the actual sale of the slaves.  
> Vigiles: Think Ancient Roman police officers, but with clubs and bats instead of guns. They’re more associated with watching the city at night time (coming from the Latin vigil)  
> Domus: A word that refers to a house, but more specifically a house that belongs to the upper classes.  
> Lucius Tarquinius Priscus: Also called Tarquin the Elder. Legendary fifth king of Rome. Was the first Roman ever to have a Triumph.  
> Tablinum: kind of like the official reception/business area of a Roman household.  
> Tabernae: This is kind of hard to explain, but basically it’s open rooms that acted as storefronts in domestic settings of Rome.  
> Calcei: Outdoor, closed shoes/boots  
> Soleae: Indoor sandals  
> Vestalia: Religious festival that honors Vesta, the Roman goddess of the hearth and domestic life. If I recall, this is the only time that people—that is, only women—can enter the part of Vesta’s temple that is curtained off (the holiest part of the temple). Girls, mothers—all women can enter and make sacrifices.  
> Lares: Usually defined as household gods. Different from the pantheon.  
> Pomerium: The religious, intangible boundary that defined where “Rome” was. Areas outside this line are considered “territories of Rome”, no matter how close it is. The main thing here is that no weapons are allowed inside the Pomerium, except for clubs (see Vigiles), and generals “left” the command of their ranks when they enter.  
> Cerae: a writing surface coated with wax. Can be reused. Excellent in teaching students. In this case, Korra’s writing on a diptych version, meaning, two writing tablets that are connected like a book.  
> Also, Publius Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus is a real person (his “son” here is fictional); look him up!
> 
> *Edit*: I forgot to mention: since I'm going to be busy this weekend and the next, chapter 3 might be a bit slower to come. I already have the general outline for it, though, so it shouldn't take relatively *too* long (I hope)!


	3. Oliva 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter was originally going to be one part of a ginormous chapter, but the other parts were a bit fiddlier and would take more time to write, so I figured that I should probably put this out while I work on the others. I've been a little behind schedule anyway. 
> 
> That said, take this as a "teaser" for the future chapter... or chapters... in this "arc". In fact, let me know if you guys like really long chapters that take a bit of time to be released, or smaller chapters like these that take a little less time to be released.
> 
> We'll call this arc/chapter "Oliva", which will hopefully make sense once the next chapter goes up. As usual, terms are at the bottom, and comments are always welcome. Enjoy (I hope)!

**_Asami_ **

  Late winter at the villa was always such a pleasure. The light kiss of the cool wind on my cheeks complimented the undiluted wine that passed through my lips; the stressful rainy season almost forgotten. On some days, I would have someone drinking with me on the villa’s garden balcony to celebrate the nearing end of the harvest season, but on that day I found myself alone, basking in the afternoon sun. It was peaceful. It was almost perfect. The wine was cool, sweet, and thick on my tongue. Pretty soon, I thought to myself, I would be at least a little free from the excitements of business. I would just have to get through the month, taking these little quiet breaks from time to time.

  But as I lounged back on one of the couches, joyous laughter interrupted my thoughts. Intrigued, I sat up, peering between the wooden rail’s posts. The three younger women—Korra, Opal, and Petale—were sitting cross-legged at our courtyard, playing what looked like a game of _tali_. A smile crept up to my lips. They were inside the villa earlier, but with their boisterous laughter, they were most likely kicked out by Caecilla, our elderly matron. I watched amusedly as Opal desperately tried to catch the five bronze knucklebones on the back of her hand, but failed to get a single one. Petale and Korra howled with laughter at that, only to be met by a handful of knucklebones thrown at their faces.

  It was such a comforting sight. Three months have passed since Circus Flaminius, and the three new members of our household had mostly adapted to Roman life, including speaking the Roman way. I was a little worried that we would not be able to teach them Latin in all its glory, especially since I did not speak their language, but my worries were unfounded. Once we had developed a system of communicating—hand gestures, acting, pointing to objects—they had surprisingly proven to be fast learners of our language. It was kind of curious, to be sure, but I couldn’t complain. The girl, Opal, was a voracious learner, and loved reading some of the literature we had in the villa. She often dragged Petale and me to teach her too, something that eventually became a common sight in our household. And that was another thing: Opal and Petale became quite inseparable. The rapidly evolving closeness that I saw between the two girls was mostly due to their “lessons”; Petale surprisingly loved to teach Opal every Roman thing under the sun, and Opal gladly let her—even implored her. Petale even once asked me to make Opal my handmaiden so she would accompany us, reasoning that the girl could already understand many complicated Latin nuances, but glaringly just motivated by the fact that if Opal became my handmaiden, Petale would have more time with her new friend. It was adorable.

  On the other hand, Suyin, who I learned was Opal’s mother, was just like her daughter; the older woman could understand some of the more complicated lines in Master Cicero’s speeches just after a few months of tutoring. Indeed, she too had developed a nice place within our household. Many times I would find her laughing with one of the matrons while helping with household chores, or even heatedly discussing a piece of Latin or Greek literature with our resident tutor, the old Greek man Alastor. Most of the time,  she was tending the _peristylium_ gardens, which I was more than grateful for, as nobody else in the household really liked the idea of tending even more plants after being out in the olive groves.

  “Alright, my turn!” I heard Korra exclaim. Giggles follow the declaration, turning into full blown laughter after a few moments. Korra’s shout of protest soon followed, ending with heavy, rhythmic footsteps. I peeked out to the courtyard once more and, sure enough, the three were out of sight, probably running from each other. Wine kissed my smiling lips once more.

  Korra was an interesting person. After the three months, she was at about the same level of fluency as Opal and Suyin, but Muscles, as Petale often called her, needed a little more coaching. On some occasions, she seemed easily frustrated at learning new words and grammar, much to Alastor’s annoyance. And that was where I came in. Because of my limited teaching capacities, I was only supposed to tutor the three their first month in Rome, but after a huge outburst of frustration from both Korra and Alastor, the old man insisted that I take over her lessons from time to time. “She might respond better to a younger, less authoritative face,” was his sagely advice, which proved somewhat effective. Korra still got easily frustrated, but seemed less fiery whenever I was the one teaching her.

  Funnily enough, I didn’t consider teaching her that big of a burden. If I was being honest, I found her quite endearing. She was a little short-fused, but she was also earnest and willing.  I liked spending time with her outside of our lessons too, whenever she wasn’t busy helping out in the groves. It was quite a while since we had someone my age within the household, after all. At first, it felt like I was mining for information about her heritage, but Korra never talked about her country (none of the three women did, really), and so my curiosity about that topic eventually lingered more in the back of my head, in favor of really getting to know my new friend as an individual. She seemed happier talking about what was happening at the moment, too. I did not mind that; it was only a matter of time and, truth be told, Korra was quite a charming individual.

  I closed my eyes and remembered a scene from a few weeks ago.

 

>   _“So this… guy… J-Jupi… ter… He’s like your… What’s the word…? Like the big god over the… others?” Korra had asked. Her speech was still a little halting and accented, but she was making great progress, and her vocabulary was starting to get quite expansive._
> 
> _“That is correct,” I had replied. We were sitting on a bench in the villa garden after a tutoring session that involved talking about Rome’s gods. Korra was surprisingly quite intrigued by them. In fact… “You seemed quite fond of his statue back at the Quirinal Hill, if I remember.” I had remarked, trying to forget the… staring I had done after._
> 
> _“You mean that guy with the… flowing hair and that… staff with the… eagle on top?” Korra had asked, wide-eyed._
> 
> _I had to resist a chuckle. If it was one of our matrons she was talking to (or even Alastor), she would have gotten a good pinch at the ears. Smiling, I had nodded, “Yes. That’s him.”_
> 
> _Korra’s face had suddenly scrunched up into a tight frown at that. Eyebrows knitted together, her blue eyes in turn looked at me with scrutiny. She folded her arms, stood up, and stared at me._
> 
> _“I-Is something wrong?” I had asked, more than a little alarmed. Was she angry at me, I had wondered._
> 
> _“Asami Sato!” Korra shouted, her booming voice bouncing on marble walls. I gripped the edge of the bench, sure that my face was losing its color. Korra opened her stance, as if holding a staff, “It is I, Jupiter of the… the…”_
> 
> _All too quickly, Korra’s face suddenly broke from the frown. Scratching her head, she had looked at me with a sheepish smile. “What was that… mountain… name, Asami? That… God mountain…?” She quietly asked._
> 
> _I remember blinking at her in confusion at first. “O… Olympos…?” I replied, still a little dazed._
> 
> _With a small nod, Korra had assumed her previous, commanding stance. “It is I, Jupiter of the Olympos! C-Cower b-before me!!” She had cried, shaking her imaginary staff with one hand. Then, doubting herself, she whispered, “Was that the… right… way to… say that?”_
> 
> _It was then that it clicked. I started laughing at her and, after a few moments, Korra had laughed with me as well._
> 
> _“Was that supposed to be Lord Jupiter, Korra?” I had asked, wiping tears away from my eyes._
> 
> _Korra had nodded enthusiastically, smiling, “The… statue was… doing a frown, Asami. Why did he look… so… He looked so… so…”_
> 
> _“Serious?” I offered._
> 
> _“Maybe? Like he was… angry at his… child.”_
> 
> _I chuckled, “Well he_ is _supposed to be the ‘father’ of all men. Some men do tend to get hotheaded.”_
> 
> _Korra shook her head, still smiling, “Scary guy.”_
> 
> _“Indeed. But don’t let anyone hear you.”_
> 
>   _“Of course!” Korra had exclaimed with a nod._
> 
> _She had looked so happy and carefree back then. The scars on her face were starting to fade, and the laugh lines were starting to get used again. Her eyes held more mirth in them, unlike a few weeks before. She looked different from back then. They all did, really, but Korra seemed more so. And every time that smile of hers showed, it felt special. I liked seeing it. I liked being the subject of it. Every time she did, I felt like I had back at the altars. My heart throbbed. My cheeks reddened. Was I really…_

  

  “Mistress Asami?” Petale’s voice broke my reverie. My handmaiden stood at the entrance to the balcony, her head tilted to one side.

  “What is it, dear?” I asked, a little surprised. I did not see nor hear her going up to the balcony, which was unusual, as she could be quite heavy-footed. Grinning, I patted a couch next to mine, which my handmaiden immediately sat down on.

  “Nothing. I thought I should just join you for a bit. The others are at the kitchens with Mistress Suyin, so I have some time,” Petale replied. She leaned back on her chair after a few moments, sighing as the rays of the sun started to warm her cheeks. My handmaiden had a little impish, satisfied grin on her face.

  “That reminds me,” I sat up. “I heard you guys were talking about _Ulixes_ earlier. Alastor said you presented him quite… favorably.”

  Petale visibly stiffened. I had to hold back a giggle; if I remember, Ulixes was favored by the Greeks, but less so by Romans. Honor was something we strived for—not the cunning and trickery that _Odysseus_ showed. Even though Alastor was Greek, he always taught Roman values, which Petale rarely protested against, but if she did, it was with fiery tenacity. Cunning, trickster Ulixes was one of the characters that Petale really liked, much to Alastor’s chagrin. Often, their teaching sessions would devolve into a shouting match, and Petale would get a firm whack on her palms afterwards.

  “He was a victim of false hospitality, Mistress!” Petale exclaimed after a few moments. Her face was starting to redden. She looked ready to explode.  “And he was just so, _so_ clever! How can I not like a person like that?!”

  “You _can_ like a person like that, dear. But I don’t think Alastor would like it if you’re teaching Korra and Opal something different from Roman customs. They still need to understand this new world.”

  “Bah! Master Alastor can stick Lord Mercury’s caduceus up his old behind!”

  “Petale! Shh!” I jumped in front of her in a panic. She was more passionate about her hero than I realized. “We don’t talk like that about our elders—or our gods, dear,” I said, keeping my tone hushed. I forgot how excitable she can be sometimes.

  Petale smiled at me, her impish grin somehow even more pronounced than it had been. “I know you like him too, Mistress,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “I do. But Alastor doesn’t, and right now we have to make sure our guests blend in as much as possible,” I replied. If I had to resolve one more spat between the two of them, I would—

   “The two girls like him too,” Petale continued nonchalantly. “Especially Korra!”

  My ears perked up at the mention of the woman’s name.  “Korra? She likes Ulixes too?” I asked. We have not really discussed him between the two of us… yet.

  “Yes,” Petale nodded. “She didn’t like him at first, but I explained why I liked him, and then she said she liked him too.”

  “She does, huh…” I heard myself whispering, my mouth drawing up to a smile, “That’s kind of like her, I’d say. She’s quite the character.”

  Petale was grinning from ear to ear. “Yes! Muscles is really fun.  She likes my jokes! But I don’t think she can understand some of them. But she laughs! And she’s strong! Did you see her carry those crates last week? She picked me up earlier! And then—”

  “Wait wait, one at a time, dear,” I stopped her, chuckling. My handmaiden had been talking in rapid Latin, using her hands to exaggerate some of her words. I knew what she was talking about: Korra was quite the help in the olive groves, and quite efficient at carrying crates of olives. Her strong arms seemed to be able to take on anything—more than once, I’ve watched her do her tasks, myself in awe. I grinned, “But yes, she sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “You should know, Mistress,” Petale replied, and I couldn’t miss the sly tone in her voice. “You do spend a lot of time with her, after all.”

  “Isn’t that the usual? I’m teaching her, after all,” I said. Korra and I _have_ been spending a lot of time, there’s no doubt about that, but wasn’t that the natural thing to do with someone new? Why was my handmaiden making it sound so… odd?

  “I didn’t mean it _that_ way, Mistress Asami.”

  “Then what _do_ you mean, dear?”

  “I’m saying that I often catch you staring at Muscles sometimes,” Petale retorted.

  My heart seemed to stop beating at the statement. Was I really? I did not really notice it. But I found myself unable to provide a rebuttal to my smirking handmaiden. Have I been staring at our guest that much to warrant an impish grin?

  “You’re blushing! You look like a beet, Mistress!” Petale exclaimed after a few moments. I dazedly touched my cheeks and, sure enough, they seemed quite warm. Hot, even.

  “It’s just the wine, dear. I took it undiluted,” I replied, waving her off, praying that it _was_ the wine that was causing the rise of my body temperature. Not that my prayer had any substance to it; I was dazed, confused, and felt a little funny.

  “See, if Korra was a male, we’d have to call off your engagement,” Petale replied, wiggling her brows suggestively.

   _Male? Why did Korra have to be a male?_

  “Have you not heard of how that poet Sappho—oh gods,” the words were out of my mouth before I could even stop myself. I felt the heat on my cheeks almost burning my skin, the earlier dazedness all but drawn out of my system. I felt completely mortified at what I impulsively said.

  “What?!” Petale jumped up in front of me. “What did you say? Mistress!”

  Thankfully, Petale didn’t know of that… woman. While I silently thanked Vesta, I brushed Petale off of me, trying to shrug her off as she seized my shoulders to force me in place. We scuffled for a few moments, Petale giggling and grunting all the while. I was stronger than her, however, so we ended up in opposite positions: her on the couch, and me standing up in front of her.

  “I didn’t say anything!” I exclaimed, breathless. Petale went wide-eyed for a minute, before settling into a bemused frown.

  “But you mentioned—”

  “Which we shall discuss later!” I assured her. It will never happen of course, but my handmaiden will no doubt forget about it. Frantically searching for another topic to drop the subject, I heard myself saying, “Anyway, we need to go to the trader’s now, dear,”

  Petale stiffened for the tenth time that day. The girl suddenly looked quite tired, if not a little annoyed, the earlier mirth in her eyes gone. “Must I accompany you there, Mistress?” she replied.

  “You need to learn how to deal with these things,” I said. Though I feel sorry for my little handmaiden, I could not exaggerate the relief I felt. It would be high time before I even _mention_ anything about the conversation we were having. And we _did_ actually have to go, anyway; it was already planned out.

  But I did frown as I said, “I’m sorry, dear. It’s only for a little while more.”

  Muttering a quick “okay”, Petale stood up from the couch. I did not stop her. The man we were going to was a bit of an elitist. Petale was always the butt of his jokes. But we couldn’t help it; she was my handmaiden… and a possible heir. She needed to face him… and I needed to drop the Korra conversation before it gets out of hand.

  Sighing, I picked up my small, empty _calix._ I dusted off the couch and, with a heaving breath, went inside the villa once more, bracing myself for the stresses of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions time:  
> Ulixes: Odysseus/Ulysses. I heard the more accurate spelling is this one soooooo…
> 
> Sappho: I think many of you might already know who this person is. If not, please search her up!
> 
> Calix: An Ancient Roman wine cup.


End file.
